DISCOURSE     c 


C.' 


IN  COMMEMORATION  OP 


THE  LIFE  AND  LABORS 


OF 


REV.  GEORGE  COOPER  GREGG, 


PASTOR  OF  SALEM  CHURCO,  SUMTER  DISTRICT,  S.  C, 


DELIVERED   IN  SAID   CHURCH   ON  SABBATH,  JAN   19,  1862, 


BY  REY.  GEO.  HOWE,  D.D., 

Pbotsssor  of  Biblioal  LiraRATUBB,  Thsolooical  Seuinabt,  Columbia,  S.  C, 


COLUMBIA,    S.  C: 

STEAM.  POWER  PRESS  OF  R.  W.  GIBBES. 
1862. 


George  Washington  Flowers 
Memorial  Collection 

DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


ESTABLISHED  BY  THE 
FAMILY  OF 

COLONEL  FLOWERS 


DISCOURSE 

V 

IN  COMMEMOEATION  OP 

THE  LIFE  AND  LABORS 


OF 


REV.  GEORGE  COOPER  GREGG, 


PASTOR  OF  SALEM  CHURCH,  SDMTER  DISTRICT,  S.  C, 


DELIVERED   IN  SAID   CHURCH  ON  SABBATH,  JAN   19,  1862, 


BY  REY.  GEO.  HOWE,  D.D., 

PBOrESSOB   OF   BiBLICAi   LlTBRATUKS,    ThEOLOQICAL   SsUINAHY,    COLUMBIA,    8.    C. 


^  n  ♦  >■  ^ 


COLUMBIA,    S.  C: 

STEAM  POWER  PRESS  OF  R.  W.  GIBBES. 
1862. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2010  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


http://www.archive.org/details/discourseincommeOOhowe 


CORHESPONDENCE. 


January  22,  1862. 
Rkv.  George  Howk,  D.D.  : 

Dear  Sir  :  Appreciating  the  merits  of  the  sermon  you  preached  on  last  Sab- 
bath, (the  19th  of  January,)  in  commemoration  of  the  death  of  our  late  respected 
and  beloved  Pastor,  the  Rev.  G.  C.  Gregg,  in  which  you  so  fully  portrayed  his 
Christian  character,  and  believing  that  the  character  of  such  a  man  should  be  held 
up  to  the  Church  as  a  bright  and  shining  light,  the  Congregation  held  a  meeting, 
and  passed  the  following  resolutions  unanimously  : 

"  That  the  Rev.  Dr.  Howe  be  requested  to  furnish  the  Congregation  with  a  copy 
of  his  sermon  on  tlie  death  of  the  Rev.  G.  C.  Gregg,  for  publication. 
"  "That  W.  E.  Mills,  Samuel  Cooper  and  Dr.  J.  A.  Mayes  are  appointed  a  com- 
mittee to  request  Dr.  Howe  to  furnish  a  copy  for  publication,  and  to  have  it  pub- 
lished." 

The  undersigned,  in  accordance  with  the  duty  assigned  them,  now  very  respect- 
fully solicit  a  copy  of  your  sermon  for  publication,  and  hope  that  you  will  comply 
with  their  request. 

W.  E.  MILLS, 
SAMUEL  COOPER, 
J.  A.  MAYES, 

Committee. 


Columbia,  Feb.  24,  1862. 
To  Messrs.  W.  E.  Mills,  Samuel  Cooper,  J.  A.  Mayes,  Committee : 

I  trust  you  will  forgive  me,  that  in  my  deep  sorrow  I  have  failed  to  reply  earlier 
to  your  letter  communicating  the  request  of  the  Salem  Congregation  for  the  pub- 
lication of  my  sermon  in  commemoration  of  your  late  Pastor.  The  consolations 
which  I  attempted  to  draw  from  the  story  of  Bethany  for  their  good,  return  into 
my  own  bosom  in  the  sad  bereavement  which  has  come  so  soon  to  me  and  to  my 
house.  So,  through  the  track  of  ages,  God's  people  are  called  to  suffer.  In  their 
homes  a  beloved  Lazarus  lies  dead,  and  the  voice  of  Jesus  is  heard — "  I  am  the 
Resurrection  and  the  Life.  He  that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet 
shall  he  live.     And  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die." 

I  have  been  much  indebted  to  others  for  the  particulars  of  the  life  and  labors  of 
your  lamented  Pastor,  and,  with  suitable  acknowledgements  to  them,  place  the 
manuscript  at  your  disposal. 

With  great  respect, 

Yours  very  truly, 

GEO.  HOWE. 


DISCOURSE. 


Jesus  saith  unto  her,  I  am  the  Itesui^ection,  and  the  Life. 
lie  that  helieveth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he 
live ;  and  "whosoever  liveth  and  helieveth  in  me  shall  never 
<?i"e.— (John  xi.,  25,26.) 

TliGse  words  are  taken  from  that  beautiful  history  of  the 
Resurrection  of  Lazarus,  which  dropped,  like  the  dew  of  tlie 
morning  from  the  flowers  of  spring,  softly,  and  full  of  sympathy, 
from  tlie  pen  of  John,  the  one  of  all  the  Twelve  the  quickest 
to  feel  the  sorrows  of  others.  He  was  the  readiest,  also,  to 
appreciate  the  human  and  the  Divine  in  the  love  of  the  Son 
of  God,  into  whose  depths  he  penetrated  the  farthest,  but 
whose  abysses  he  did  not  pretend  to  fathom.  It  is  a  lovely 
picture  of  domestic  peace  he  spreads  before  us.  "  Behold  how 
good  and  pleasant  it  is  for  brethren  to  dwell  together  in 
unity!"  Like  the  precious  and  fragrant  ointment  which 
descended  from  the  head  on  the  beard  of  Aaron,  is  the  confid- 
ing love  of  brothers  and  sisters,  is  all  that  dutiful  and  engag- 
ing conduct  seen  around  the  domestic  hearth,  in  a  family  in 
which  there  are  no  bickerings,  among  those  who  are  of  one 
flesh  and  blood,  who  have  drank  from  one  breast,  and  have 
one  and  the  same  fortune  in  life.  In  this  quiet  family  of 
Bethany  Jesus  had  often  been.  It  was  his  habitual  refuge 
from  the  din  and  jostling  crowds  of  Jerusalem ;  from  its 
ambition  ;  its  greed  ;  its  hollow  pretence  of  zeal  for  God ;  its 
malignant  Priests  and  Pharisees;  its  proud,  narrow-minded, 
scowling  and  angry  Scribes. 

"Now  Jesus  loved  Martha,  and  her  sister,  and  Lazarus." 
Abiding,  eternal  honor  this  to  that  peaceful  house,  tliat  happy 
isle  amid  the  raging  sea.     He  loved  them  all,  difl'ei-ent  though 


6 

tliey  were — the  busy,  bustling  Martha,  the  meek  and  thoughtful 
Mary,  the  numly  Lazarus,  to  whom  they  clung,  their  sole 
stay  and  defender  among  men.  Domestic  scenes  were  his 
deliglit.  He  cauglit  children  in  his  arms  and  blessed  them ; 
he  wrought  his  firet  miracle  at  a  marriage  feast,  amid  a  rejoic- 
ing family ;  and  his  last  in  this  one  now  filled  with  anguish. 
The  youngest,  freshest  blossom  of  the  three  withers,  Lazarus, 
the  brother  of  Mary  and  Martha,  is  sick. 

They  see  and  realize  the  danger,  and  bethink  themselves  of 
their  mighty  friend,  whose  power  they  had  heard  of,  and,  per- 
haps, had  witnessed.  He  is  at  Bethabara,  gone. thither  for 
safety.  They  send  a  simple  message  to  him :  "  Lord,  behold 
he  whom  thou  lovest  is  sick,"  They  ask  nothing,  entreat 
nothing,  and  yet  say  everything — the  act  itself  speaks  con- 
fidence, love,  humble  meekness,  urgent  sense  of  their  need. 
He  whom  thou  lovest  is  suflering,  is  sick,  very  sick;  he 
suifers,  and  we  also.  Shall  he  suffer?  Shall  he  die  whom 
thou  lovest,  and  we  lose  our  brother,  and  thou  thy  friend? 
Wliat  confidence!  What  friendship  on  both  sides!  What 
meek  humility  and  anxious  sorrow  on  theirs !  He  could  save, 
save  even  from  death.     He  would  soon  be  there. 

And  so  they  comforted  themselves,  and  strove  to  comfort 
him,  their  brother.  As  they  wiped  the  cold  sweat  from  his 
brow,  or  urged  him  to  patience  under  suffering,  they  were 
assured  that  Jesus  would  soon  be  there.  Did  he  not  heal  the 
centurion's  servant,  and  the  courtier's  son,  and  would  he  now 
delay?  No,  he  will  assuredly  come.  Perhaps  he  is  near 
already,  though  we  hear  not  his  footsteps.  And  so  did  they 
encourage  themselves  and  their  brother — so  mingled  their 
cup  of  sorrow  with  drops,  if  we  may  so  say,  of  hope,  through 
all  his  mortal  agony,  till  he  expired, 

AVhat  a  trial  to  their  faith  !  It  might  be  that  he  could  not 
come.  But  he  might  have  spoken  one  word  of  command.  He 
might  have  quietly  willed  the  cure  ;  and,  from  the  recesses  of 
his  power,  there  would  have  gone  forth  healthful  vigor  to  the 
dying  man,  he  would  have  stood  again  upon  his  feet, 
like  the  mother-in-law  of  Peter,  filling  the  house  at  Bethany 
with  his  ministries  of  love,  and  the  hearts  of  the  sisters  with 


irrepressible  joy.  But  alas !  he  lias  succumbed  to  the  power 
of  death,  and  lies  motionless  and  unconscious  before  their 
weeping  eyes. 

Their  messenger,  also,  had  now  returned,  and  bore  to  their 
ears,  it  may  be,  those  mysterious  words,  now  clad  in  deeper 
mystery:  "Tliis  sickness  is  not  unto  death,  but  for  the  glory 
of  God,  tliat  the  Son  of  God  might  bo  glorified  thereby."  How 
seemingly  inconsistent  this!     And  how  mysterious  the  juxta- 
position of  the  words,  "  Now  Jesus  loved  Martha,  and  her 
sister,  and  Lazarus.     When  he  heard,  therefore,  that  he  was 
sick,  he  abode  two  days  still  in  the  place  where  lie  was."  And 
yet,  how  do  these  seeming  difficulties   disa]>pear  when    we 
remember  who  and  what  He  was  who  speaks.     He  looked 
through  the  future.     He  saw,  in  one  glance,  the  resurrection 
of  his  much  loved  friend  following  close  upon  liis  death  ;  and 
this  death,  and  all  its  pains,  swallowed  up  in  God's  greater 
glory,  and  the  joy  of  the  sufferer.  His  pains  and  agonies  were 
but  the  birtli-pangs  of  a  new  existence ;  the  transition  to  a 
mighty  deliverance ;  the  preparation  for  moments  of  surpass- 
ing joy.     In  His  view,  whose  proper   dwelling  place,   even 
though  incarnate  on  the   earth,  was   in   heaven    itself,   who 
inhabits  eternity,  to  whom  time  and  space  are  nothing,  the 
future  was  beheld  as  accomplished,  the  incomplete  finished, 
sickness,   death   and   decay   overcome,  and  immortality  and 
glory  gained.  If  Lazarus  lies  there  sick,  if  lie  agonizes  and  ex- 
pires, if  his  sisters  stand  wringing  their  hands,  and  hope  in  vain 
till  hope  is  exhausted,  his  sickness  is  not  unto  death,  but  unto 
life,  and  unto  the  glory  of  God.   Exalted,  clear-sighted  glance 
of  that  God-head,  wliich  surveys  all,  wills  all,  and  beholds  all 
complete  and  glorious  in  the  eternity  before  us  ;  to  which  sick- 
ness,  pain  and  dying  beds  are   but    the   needful   steps  that 
bear  us  from  a  world  of  sin  to  realms  of  light  and  beauty !   Oh, 
if  one  glimpse  of  this  vision — the  merest  ray  of  this  glory 
could  enter  the  soul  of  the  suffering  one  who  lies  forsaken  in 
his  hour  of  gloom,  the  heavens  dark  above  him,  chained  to 
tliis  now  of  his  anguish,  and  incapable  of  reaching  forward  to 
the  distant  future — if  he  could  lift  himself  up  to  the  view  of 
the  coming  glory,  which  is  always  present  to  the  mind  of  the 


8 

Eternal  One,  how  would  his  heart  be  comforted  and  his  tears 
be  wiped  away ! 

"  This  sickness  is  not  unto  death,"  said  Jesus,  yet  he  did  die. 
Had  he  then  deceived  them  ?  Or  had  he  been  mistaken  ? 
Ko,  he  knew  all.  Ho  liad  jtlanned  all  ;  and,  through  what  we 
call  death,  would  he  give  to  Lazarus  life,  not  to  the  body  only, 
but  life  and  blessedness  to  the  soul.  "  He  loved  Martha,  and 
her  sister,  and  Lazarus,"  tlie  dying  and  the  surviving  ones,  and 
meant  their  good.  Yet  did  he  not  hasten  to  them,  nor  speak 
the  life-giving  word.  Because  he  loved  them,  he  waited  two 
days  till  hope  had  expired,  and  man's  extremity  was  come. 

To  his  disciples,  he  now  announces  the  event :  "  Lazarus,  our 
f'nend,  sleepeth."  Beautiful  would  it  have  been  as  an  inscrip- 
tion over  his  last  resting  place,  "  Lazarus,  our  fi'iend^''  your 
friend,  and  my  friend.  Precious  words  to  fall  from  the  lips  of 
God's  only  Son,  whom  Angels  worship,  our  Brother  too,  and 
sympathising  one — "  Lazarus,  our  friend,  sleepethP  Beautiful 
euphemism  for  the  death  of  a  believer.  Sleep  and  death  are 
brothers.  Each  is  a  gentle  and  certain  transition  to  life.  As 
in  the  one,  so  in  the  other,  the  outward  only  becomes  inac- 
tive. Sleej)  is  an  ebbing  of  the  powers  of  life  to  return  again 
in  new  freshness  and  vigor,  a  wonderful  and  mysterious,  but 
kind  arrangement  for  enjoying  another  day.  The  mind  ceases 
not,  but  is  refreshed  still  for  new  activity,  and  the  body  pre- 
pared with  new  power  to  do  its  bidding.  We  dread  not  sleep, 
though  it  locks  up  our  senses,  for  we  know  that  without  it  we 
are  incapable  of  the  refreshment  and  joy  which  morning 
brings,  and  unfit  for  the  duties  still  required.  So,  without 
death — it  is  the  ordinance  of  Heaven — we  will  not  be  ready 
for  that  newness  of  life  which  soul  and  body  are  to  enjoy 
together.  "  Lazarus,  our  friend,  sleepeth  ;  but  I  go  that  1  may 
awake  him  out  of  sleep."  "  That  I  may  awake  him !"  How 
appropriate !  how  gentle  the  word!  Thou  sleepest,  Brother  of 
Jesus,  and  deep  is  thy  slumber,  narrow  thy  chamber,  and 
low  lies  thy  form  in  the  dust.  But  from  the  distance  ap- 
proaches the  step,  though  by  thee  unheard,  of  Him  who  has 
the  keys  of  death  and  of  hell ;  of  Him  who  spake  on  the  morn 
of  the  creation ;  and  it  was  done.    The  hour  will  soon  be  here 


when  His  voice  shall  be  heard  above  thy  grave  :  "  Lazarus,  my 
friend,  the  mornin*:;  is  breaking,  awake  from  thy  sleep ! 
awake ! " 

His  disciples  understood  him  not.  And  he  was  obliged  to 
speak  plainly  the  hard  word :  "  Lazarus  is  dead."  "  And  I 
am  glad,  says  he,  for  your  sakes,  that  I  was  not  there,  to  the 
intent  that  ye  may  believe ;"  believe  with  a  liiglier  faith  when 
ye  shall  see  my  wondrous  power,  and  believe,  also,  in  the 
Resurrection  of  the  Saints  at  the  last  day. 

He  arrives  at  Bethany,  near  Jerusalem,  finds  that  Lazarus 
had  lain  in  the  grave  four  daj^s  already,  and  that  there  were 
many  Jews,  who  had  come  from  the  city  to  comfort  the 
mourners,  and  who  were  to  be  witnesses  of  his  deed.  He  enters 
not  the  house,  but  tarries  outside  the  town,  nearer  to  the 
place  of  burial.  The  bus}'^,  active  Martha  knew  of  his  coming ; 
the  heart-broken  Mary  sat  retired,  absorbed  in  grief,  and  unsus- 
picious as  yet  of  the  rumor  of  his  arrival.  Martha  approaches, 
and  says :  "  Lord,  if  thou  hadst  been  here,  my  brotlier  had 
not  died."  These  might  have  been  construed  as  words  of 
re])roach.  If  tliou  hadst  done  tliis  or  that,  if  thou  hadst  taken 
the  little  trouble  to  liasten  hither,  the  dead  would  have  lived ; 
this  great  misfortune  would  not  have  occurred.  Bat  not  in 
sucli  a  temper  were  these  words  uttered.  Not  in  such  a  spirit 
were  they  repeated  by  the  gentle  Mary,  who,  hearing  tliat  the 
Master  had  come,  and  was  calling  for  her,  came  quickly.  They 
had  tried  all  human  help.  Brothei",  sister,  friend,  could  not 
have  saved  one  pang.  They  had  waited  vainly  for  his  coming, 
like  those  who  wait  for  the  morning.  But  come  he  did  not. 
And  the  bitterest  drop  in  their  cup  of  sorrow  was  that  all 
this  might  have  been  prevented.  Had  the  sickness  occurred 
when  he  was  near,  or  had  they  informed  him  sooner,  Lazarus 
miglit  3^et  have  been  by  their  side,  their  living  brother.  And 
yet,  says  Martha,  "  I  know  that  even  now,"  though  we  have 
laid  him  away  in  the  grave,  and  decay  is  doing  its  work  upon 
his  once  fair  form — "  whatsoever  thou  wilt  ask  of  God,  God 
will  give  it  thee."  It  was  the  utterance  of  faith,  and  yet  of 
want  of  faith.  He  was  prevalent  in  prayer,  and  by  this  could 
ohtam  fi'oin  God  that  which,  if  she  onl}^  knew  it,  he  could  do 


1(1 

08  God.  "Jesus  said  unto  her,  thy  brother  shall  rise  again." 
Her  tearful  eye  sees,  her  sorrowing  heart  perceives  but  dimly. 
Tlie  sky  is  overcast  ■with  cloud,  and  a  misty  haze  gathers 
around  her.  "  I  know  that  he  shall  rise  again,"  said  she,  in 
the  Resurrection,  at  the  last  day."  She  is  dreaming  of  some- 
thing distant  when  help  is  near  at  hand.  She  clung  with  a 
merely  human  passion  to  the  ol)ject  of  her  earthly  love.  "  I 
know,"  she  says, "  that  he  shall  rise  in  the  Kesurrection."  But 
the  day  was  so  far  oif.  She  must  be  lifted  to  loftier  views,  as 
we,  also,  must,  and  have  her  heart  turned  away  to  her  Lord 
and  Master,  and  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  his  power 
and  love.  Otherwise,  if  her  brother  were  given  back  to  life 
as  a  mortal  man,  there  would  be  the  pain  of  another  parting 
when  death  claimed  either  liim  or  her  as  its  victim.  "  I  am 
the  Resurrection,"  says  he,  in  the  words  of  the  text,  "  and  the 
Life."  "I  am  the  Resurrection,"  the  death  of  death.  Its 
corruption  and  decay  are  nothing  to  me.  The  power  to  raise 
the  dead  abides  in  me,  who  am  present  here.  One  day  with 
me,  your  Lord,  is  as  a  thousand  years,  and  a  thousand  years 
as  one  day.  And  this,  as  well  as  that,  can  be  the  hour  of  resur- 
rection to  whom  I  please.  "  I  am  the  Life,"  its  author,  and  its 
source.  From  me  flows  the  vital  fluod  through  all  the  veins 
of  the  natural  world,  whose  Creator  and  Sustainer  I  am,  and 
even  so  do  I  live  in  all  who  are  spiritually  alive.  They  who 
live  not  in  me  are  spiritually  dead,  and  a  rayless  night 
covers  their  departure  from  earth,  and  they  go  away  into 
dense  and  eternal  darkness.  "  He  that  belicveth  in  me,  though 
he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live ;  and  whosoever  believeth  in 
me  shall  uever  die,"  By  his  faith  in  me,  he  shall  receive  a  life 
over  which  death  has  no  power.  Even  if  he  seem  to  die,  he 
lives  still  an  uninterrupted  life  ;  the  clay  tenement  ma}^  dissolve 
under  the  power  of  the  fell  destroyer,  but  his  inner  life 
remains  untouched,  save  as  it  is  lifted  to  a  higher  sphere,  and 
flows  on  in  inconceivable  enjoyment,  under  the  power  of  what 
men  call  death,  but  which,  to  the  believer,  is  but  a  sleep  till 
the  morning  breaks.  Believest  thou  this,  Martha  ?  and  thou, 
wx'cping  Mary?  Believest  ihoa  this,  my  hearer?  Believest 
thou  that  in  Him,  the  Lord  of  Life,  all  the  powers  of  life  eter- 


n 

nal  centre,  of  lite  not  merely  in  its  first  creative  action,  but  of 
life  in  conflict  with  death,  destroying  the  grim  monster's  work, 
and  converting  it  into  a  transition  and  a  birth  into  a  wide 
freedom  from  all  sin  and  sorrow,  into  a  bomidless,  joyful  and 
eternal  life? 

"  Yea,  I  believe,"  says  Martha,  "  that  thou  art  the  Christ, 
the  Son  of  God,  which  should  come  into  the  world."  I 
believe,  and  have  believed,*  as  far  as  I  could,  and  as  far  as  I 
knew,  that  thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  of  whom  our 
Prophets  and  Scribes  have  taught  that  he  shoukl  come  into 
the  world.  I  own  thee  as  the  Author  of  all  life  that  animates 
the  world,  and  I  own  thee  as  he  by  whom  the  Resurrection  is 
to  be  accomplished,  "  when  they  that  sleep  in  the  dust  of  the 
earth  shall  awake,"  thy  people  and  thy  flock  to  "  shine  as  the 
brightness  of  the  firmament" — even  as  Daniel  spoke — "  and  as 
the  stars,  forever  and  ever."  What  she  thus  believed,  we,  my 
hearers,  may  believe  with  a  more  instructed  faith.  Not  only 
as  he  was  God  was  he  able,  but  as  Mediator,  though  clothed 
with  our  mortal  clay,  has  he  been  empowered  to  invade  the 
realm  of  death,  to  take  the  prey  from  the  mighty,  and  deliver 
the  lawful  captive.  "  I  will  ransom  them  from  the  power  of  the 
grave.  I  will  redeem  them  from  death.  O,  death  !  I  will  be 
thy  plagues.  O,  grave !  I  will  be  thy  destruction. — (Hos. 
13  :  14.) 

But  behold  the  love  and  tender  sympathy  of  our  Lord.  The 
broken-hearted  Mary  had  cast  herself  at  His  feet,  and  with 
her  bitter,  yet  loving  cry,  "  Lord,  if  thou  hadst  been  here,  my 
brother  had  not  died,"  her  voice  is  choked  with  grief.  It 
is  the  moment  for  tears.  Tlie  sadness  of  death  overpowers 
them  all.  Mary  weeps  in  uncontrollable  sorrow.  The  Jews 
weep.  Nobles  they  may  have  been.  But  they  all  weep,  friends 
and  enemies.  Jesus  Himself  is  moved,  and  His  heart  is 
stirred  to  its  lowest  depths.  Indeed,  He  is  a  High  Priest  who 
can  be  touched  with  our  infirmities.  Mary  cannot  speak. 
And  so  it  often  is  with  the  child  of  sorrow.  But  the  unutter- 
able grief  of  the  voiceless  suflcrer,  her  prostrate  and  exhausted 

*  rcETiiarevKa. 


12 

form,  her  sense  of  nothingness,  is  the  most  touching  prayer  to 
Him  who  is  miglity  to  save.  Yet  is  it  not  mere  sympathy 
witli  which  he  is  moved.  The  one  case  of  death  before  liim 
brings  to  his  view  all  the  graves  and  bereaved  households  of 
eartli.  It  was  the  wages  of  that  sin  he  came  to  expiate,  and 
which,  as  to  believers,  was  laid  upon  him.  It  was  the  work 
of  the  devil ;  of  liim  who  had  tlie  power  of  death,  whom  he 
came  expressly  to  cast  out  and  destroy,  and  "  to  deliver  those 
who,  through  fear  of  death,  are  all  their  life  time  subject  to 
bondage."  It  was  a  grief,  therefore,  mingled  with  horror  and 
indignation  of  spirit,*  at  what  sin  had  wrought,  and  this 
thought  he  pondered  till  he  shudderedf  through  all  his  frame. 

But  he  advances  to  do  battle  with  the  conqueror  of  the 
human  race.  "Where  have  ye  laid  him,"  says  he?  "Lord, 
come  and  see,"  is  their  reply.  The  indignation  he  had  felt  at 
the  blotting  out  of  the  earthly  image  of  God  now  changes  into 
the  gentler  emotion  of  sorrow.  The  simple  words  "  come  and 
see"  bring  before  him  the  sad  reality.  Lazarus,  whom  he 
loved,  has  fallen  a  victim  to  the  fell  destroyer.  His  dust  has 
gone  to  connningle  with  the  dust  of  earth.  The  friend  of  his 
bosom  lies  a  cold  earth-clod,  no  more  a  man,  no  more  a  brother 
dwelling  with  us  :  lie  lies  in  his  lonely  and  narrow  house,  in 
the  hand  of  God,  insensible  to  us,  awaiting  like  the  buried 
seed-corn  the  morning  of  the  Resurrection.  Death  has 
triumphed  over  him.  He  can  refrain  no  longer.  Ilis  heart 
overflows,  his  eyes  arc  wet  with  weeping,  till  the  Jews  them- 
selves exclaimed  :  "  Behold  how  he  loved  him  !  " 

He  ap2:)roaches  the  tomb,  not  without  another  outburst  of 
indignant  horror  at  the  sad  ravages  of  sin.  It  was  but  for  a 
moment.  "  Take  ye  away  the  stone,"  says  he,  with  majestic 
composure.  Your  hands  have  placed  it  there,  your  hands  can 
take  it  away.  But  the  sisterly  voice  of  the  anxious,  careful 
Martha  is  heard.  She  cannot  bear  that  the  remains  of  that 
dear  brother  should  be  made  offensive  to  others,  nor  that  her 
Lord  should  go  down  and  look  on  the  changed  countenance  of 
his  friend,  and  be  revolted  at  it.     "  Said  I  not  to  thee,"  says 

*  Ive/ipifiijaaTO  tu  irvev/iaxi.         \  Irupa^ev  iavrhv. 


13 

the  conqueror,  "  that  if  thou  wouklst  believe,  thou  shouldst  see 
the  glory  of  God  ? "  Then,  in  a  wonderful  prayer  of  thanks- 
giving, he  lifts  his  eyes  to  Ileaven,  thanking  his  Father  that 
he  had  heard  him,  triumphing  thus  before  the  victory. 
Though  as  a  Son,  he  learned  obedience  on  earth,  and  asked 
and  received ;  yet,  as  he  was  God,  each  prayer  of  his  human 
lips,  and  wish  of  his  human  soul,  was  the  declaration  of  an 
eternal  purpose  which  must  be  fulfilled. 

"  The  hour  is  coming,"  said  he — at  an  earlier  time  in  his 
ministry  he  said  it — "  in  which  all  that  are  in  their  graves  shall 
hear  his  voice,  and  shall  come  forth."  That  hour,  at  least  to 
one,  has  come.  "  He  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  Lazarus,  come 
forth."  It  was  a  resistless  mandate.  The  spirit  heard,  and 
came  from  its  absence  to  its  wonted  abode ;  the  lifeless  clay 
heard ;  life  darted  through  all  its  members,  and  the  vital  flood 
ebbed  and  flowed  through  every  vein ;  the  damp  and  decay, 
and  odor  of  death,  departed  from  the  cheek,  and  the  man, 
Lazarus,  returned  to  his  weeping  sisters,  clothed  not  yet  with 
an  immortal,  but  with  a  mortal  body,  the  stay  and  staft"  for  a 
few  years  longer,  the  joy  and  light  once  more  of  the  house  the 
Saviour  had  so  honored  and  blest.  And  the  voice  which  thus 
spake,  was  the  voice  of  that  Redeemer  who  can  call  back  to 
the  body  millions  as  well  as  one,  who  shall  ILimself  "  descend 
from  Heaven  with  a  shout,  with  the  voice  of  the  Archangel 
and  the  trump  of  God,"  to  call  forth  the  buried  Saints,  and  to 
transform  tlie  living,  who  "  shall  be  caught  up  together  with 
them  in  the  clouds,  to  meet  the  Lord  in  the  air ; "  to  be  ever 
with  the  Lord.  "  I  am  the  Resurrection,  and  the  Life :  he 
that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live  : 
and  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die. 
Believest  thou  this  ?  "  thou  sorrowing  one  that  lidst  wept  and 
weepest  yet  over  thy  departed  friend  ? 

But  this  Lazarus,  who  was  he  ?  He  was  no  titled  man. 
He  was  neither  Ruler,  Scribe,  nor  Priest,  among  his  people. 
He.  was  a  private  person,  of  an  honorable  house,  we  do  not 
doubt,  the  youngest  of  the  three,  perhaps,  dear  to  the  Lord, 
we    suppose,   for  a  noble  nature    and    an   unfaltering    love 


14 

towards  his  person,  aud  dear  again,  because  the  brother  of 
Mary  and  Martha,  whom  he  also  loved,  and  who  leaned  upon 
this  one  as  their  stay. 

We  have  spoken  of  this  household  at  Bethany  at  too  great 
length,  we  fear,  for  the  special  purpose  of  bringing  before  yon 
that  Adorable  One  who  is  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life,  and 
of  showing  you  how  precious  in  his  eyes  is  the  death  of  all  his 
saints.  We  come  now,  to  speak  of  another  household,  which, 
though  exhi1)iting  other  relationships,  was,  we  hope,  like  that 
of  Bethany,  honored  with  the  Master's  presence,  and  held  one, 
at  least,  whom  Jesus  loved. 

We  come  to  s]ieak  of  him*  who  was  a  friend  to  you  all,  and 
to  Jesus,  our  and  his  Master  and  Lord.  He  lived  among  you 
not  as  a  private  man  only,  nor  as  one  who  was  the  light  and 
joy,  and  stay  and  defender  of  one  family  alone,  but  the  cheer- 
ful and  wise  companion  of  many,  and  a  lamp  bright  and  shin- 
ing, which  God  had  placed  in  the  candlestick  of  his  Church  to 
give  light  to  all  that  arc  in  his  house.  There  are  relations 
which  he  bore,  of  kindred  and  blood,  as  tender  as  those  of  the 
three  friends  of  whom  we  spoke ;  there  are  relations  which  he 
sustained  to  the  Church  militant  on  earth ;  and  there  are  and 
were  relations  to  the  Church  triumphant  above,  where  he  is 
now  gathered  to  be ;  and  there  were  and  are  relations  sustained 
by  him  to  our  Lord  and  Head.  For  it  pleased  God,  who 
separated  him  from  his  mother's  womb,  and  called  him  by  his 
grace,  to  reveal  his  Son  in  him,  that  he  might  preach  him 
among  men.  He  chose  him  to  this  end,  and  for  it  ordered  the 
events  of  his  life,  and  fixed  the  bounds  of  his  habitation  that 
he  could  not  pass,  and  when  the  twelve  hours  of  the  day  he  had 
appointed  him  to  do  his  work  were  ended,  took  him  home  to 
himself  to  receive  his  reward. 

Let  me  rehearse  his  life  and  character,  in  connection  with 
the  preceding  history  of  the  house  in  Bethany,  and  see  if  some 
of  its  consolations  cannot  flow  over  upon  us. 

It  was  near  forty-eight  years  ago,  in  Marion  District,  on  the 
19th  of  February,  1814,  that  he  first  saw  the  light  of  the  sun.  It 

*Rov.  Georgo  Cooper  Gregg. 


15 

was  on  the  28tli  of  May,  in  1861,  that  lie,  too,  fell  asleep  in  Jesus, 
having  lived  on  the  earth  forty-seven  years  and  three  months, 
closing  in  the  midst  of  an  admiring  people  and  weeping 
friends,  an  honorable  and  useful  life.  Of  tlie  parents  who 
guided  his  infant  footsteps,  and  trained  him  in  the  admonition 
of  the  Lord,  one,  his  mother,  yet  survives,  and  is  present  with 
us  to-day.  He  lias  readied  the  liaven  of  rest  before  her.  She 
can  say  that,  in  his  youth,  he  kept  "  his  father's  command- 
ment, and  forsook  not  the  law  of  his  mother,"  and  we  can 
testify  that  they  were,  as  the  wise  man  has  said,  "  an  ornament 
of  grace  unto  his  head  and  chains  of  beauty  about  his  neck." 
(Prov.  6  :  20 ;  1 :  8.)  At  seventeen  years  of  age  his  school 
education,  at  a  distance  from  home,  appears  to  have  com- 
menced. The  Holy  Spirit  pressed,  meanwhile,  the  lessons  of 
parental  instruction,  and  the  truths  of  God's  word,  upon  his 
heart ;  and  after  a  youth  of  thoughtfulness  and  sobriety,  as  he 
was  approaching  manhood,  the  decisive  moment  in  his 
religious  history  came,  in  which  he  passed  from  death  unto  life ; 
from  that  realm  of  moral  darkness  into  whicli  our  birth  intro- 
duces us,  into  that  realm  of  light  and  life  into  which  regener- 
ation ushers  us ;  from  the  bondage  of  corruption  into  the  sweet 
and  pleasant  service  of  a  new  master,  Christ  our  Lord.  In 
his  twentieth  year  he  became  a  member  by  public  profession  of 
the  Church  of  Hopewell,  then  under  the  care  of  the  Rev.  Thos. 
R.  English,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  many  of  these  facts. 
Soon  after  this,  he  heard  the  voice  of  the  enthroned  Master, 
who,  when  he  ascended,  received  gifts  for  men,  saying, 
""Whom  shall  I  send,  and  who  will  go  for  us?"  His  grateful 
and  believing  heart  replied,  "  Here  am  I,  send  me ;"  and  he 
began,  under  his  Pastor,  those  classical  studies  which  he 
subsequently  pursued  elsewhere,  till  at  the  age  of  tweuty-two, 
when  his  mind  was  mature,  he  entered  the  College  of  South 
Carolina,  where,  after  a  course  of  successful  study,  continued 
through  a  period  of  three  years,  he  was  graduated  in  1838. 
Tlie  next  three  years  were  spent  in  the  Theological  Seminary, 
under  the  instructions  of  my  venerable  colleague  and  myself, 
and  in  a  class  of  choice  young  men,  some  of  whom  are  gone 
to  their  reward.     Amid  pleasant  studies  in  God's  holy  word, 


16 

in  the  society  of  congenial  friends,  who  each  contributed  tlicir 
part  to  the  happiness  and  improvement  of  the  rest,  in  the 
contemplation  and  discussion  of  Divine  trutli,  tlie  years  glided 
swiftly  away.  The  amicable  conflict  of  mind  with  mind, 
the  ennobling  doctrines  of  revealed  religion  daily  meditated, 
the  cheerful  intercourse  with  loved  associates,  left  their  traces 
on  his  whole  after  life,  and  established  friendships  still  fresh 
and  green  now  that  he  has  departed.  With  the  slight  change 
of  a  word,  he  could  have  said  with  the  Apostle,  who,  on  one 
occasion,  reverted  to  his  own  student's  life :  I  "  profited  in 
the  Jews'  religion  above  many  my  equals  in  mine  own  nation." 
On  the  4th  of  July,  1841,  he  and  his  classmates  left  the  walls 
of  that  sacred  retreat,  and  went  forth  to  labor  in  the  Master's 
vineyard.  lie  had  been  licensed  in  April  before,  with  his 
classmate,  John  D.  Wilson,  over  whose  early  grave  we  might 
well  bestow  a  tear,  whose  ministry,  so  full  of  promise,  was  so 
soon  terminated,  and,  after  a  short  trial  as  a  candidate,  was 
ordained  and  installed  your  Pastor  on  the  Otli  of  November 
of  the  same  year,  as  the  successor  of  R,  W.  James,  whose 
memory  is  still  precious.  Ills  uninterrupted  pastorship  of 
more  than  nineteen  years,  in  this  age  of  ministerial  change, 
the  perfect  harmou}'  which  prevailed  ever  between  him  and 
liis  people,  and  the  increasing  endearment  of  this  relation 
between  you  and  him,  are  evidences  how  well  he  filled  the 
ofiice,  and  how  great  was  that  worth  which,  like  a  magnet, 
drew  you  to  him.  As  he  stood  up  to  address  you,  his  numly 
form,  his  kind  expression  of  countenance,  and  his  warm  and 
honest  heart,  contributed  to  iniju-ess  you  with  respect  for  him, 
and  win  jowr  attention  to  the  truths  he  uttered.  His  preach- 
ing was  solid  and  instructive,  sound  in  doctrine,  clear  in  state- 
ment, strong  in  argument,  and  close  and  unambiguous  in 
application.  If  he  did  not  aficct  and  did  not  attain  the 
highest  graces  of  style  and  manner,  he  was  yet,  especially  in 
liis  more  elaborate  eflforts,  rich  and  varied  in  apt  and  striking 
illustrations,  drawn  from  the  wide  fields  which  his  reading 
and  observation  spread  out  before  him.  At  such  times  he 
enchained  the  attention  of  his  hearers  by  his  instructive  dis- 
courses, unwritten,  as  we  are  told,  towards  the  close  of  his 


17 

ministry,  yet  faithfully  prepared,  and  delivered  with  increas- 
ing tenderness  and  force. 

In  his  intercourse  with  his  people,  of  which  you  know  far 
more  than  I,  there  doubtless  was  mncli  that  was  attractive. 
His  dignity  and  ease  of  manners,  his  sound  and  uid)iassed  judg- 
ment, his  freedom  from  all  prejudice,  his  powers  of  conversa- 
tion, and  his  genial  and  inoifensive  humor  and  liis  kindness  of 
lieart  must  liave  won  for  him  a  place  in  the  homes  and  hearts 
of  men,  and  made  his  presence  welcome  at  every  hearth. 

Tliis  was  to  have  been  anticipated  from  the  promise  of  his 
earlier  life.  A  friend  and  classmate,^'  who  knew  him  well,  tes- 
tifies that  he  was  the  most  deservedly  popular  man  among  his 
fellow  students,  which  was  due  to  the  confidence  reposed  in  his 
judgment,  making  his  opinions  valuable  to  all  wdio  stood  in 
need  of  counsel ;  due  also  to  the  equanimity  of  his  disposition, 
for  he  was  singularly  free  from  those  varying  moods  which 
disturb  the  equanimity  of  other  men,  and  to  the  fact  that 
though  not  seeking  others,  he  was  accessible  to  all,  and  never 
disappointed  any ;  due,  still  further,  to  that  kind  and  gentle 
humor  which  was  always  bubbling  up  and  pervaded  his  con- 
versation, lending  it  a  charm  which  made  him  an  agreeable 
companion — a  humor  controlled  by  a  rare  prudence,  never 
taking  an  edge  that  would  irritate  and  pain,  but  always  kind 
and  genial.  The  loss  of  such  a  man  must  be  deeply  felt  in  the 
connnuuity  in  which  he  moved. 

By  none,  we  are  told,  were  his  labors  more  appreciated  than 
by  the  colored  members  of  his  flock.  Though  he  was  fond  of 
philosophic  studies,  and  kept  well  abreast  of  the  current  litera- 
ture in  Philosophy  and  Theology  while  he  lived,  he  adapted 
himself  with  w^onderful  ease  to  their  modes  of  thought,  con- 
veyed the  rich  treasures  of  truth,  of  which  he  had  so  great  a 
wealth,  into  their  untutored  minds,  and,  knowing  their  temp- 
tations and  frailties,  and  yet  having  confidence  in  them  and 
respect  for  their  character,  he  had  the  firmness  to  deal  faith- 
fully with  them,  and  the  wisdom  with  all  this  faithfulness  to 
win  and  not  discourage  those  who  were  prone  to  wander. 

*  Rev.  Dr.  Palmer,  of  New  Orleans. 


18 

Probably  very  few  could  compare  with  him  in  the  influence 
he  gained  over  this  portion  of  his  flock,  by  mingled  firmness 
and  kindness ;  for  though  he  never  passed  them  without  a  kind 
word  and  a  pleasant  smile,  yet  he  did  not  rashly  receive  them 
into  the  church,  and  was  firm  and  decided  in  discipline  when 
it  was  required.  Many  of  thorn  will  gather  around  h'un  in  the 
New  Jerusalem  above,  and  thank  the  Good  Slicpherd  who  in- 
trusted him  for  so  many  years  with  the  care  of  their  souls. 

Nor  was  his  voice  unheard  in  the  house  of  affliction.  The 
liouse  of  mourning  more  often  welcomed  him  than  the  house 
of  feasting.  His  sympathizing  voice  spoke  consolation  to  the 
mourner,  and  drew  towards  him  the  hearts  of  those  whom  God 
had  smitten.  And  in  this  was  he  like  that  Holy  One  who 
took  upon  him  our  griefs  and  carried  our  sorrows. 

Nor  was  his  influence  restricted  to  his  own  congregation. 
His  intercourse  with  his  brethren  in  the  ministry  was  to  them 
peculiarly  valuable  and  grateful.  He  was  social,  and  yet  his 
opinions  were  never  obtruded.  The  friend  I  have  already 
quoted  speaks  of  him  as  being  the  most  self-contained  man  he 
ever  knew,  and  though  disposed  to  silence,  and  waiting  to  be 
challenged,  yet  as  universally  accessible,  uniformly  frank  in 
his  utterances,  and  singularly  free  from  concealment.  His 
mind,  too,  was  of  a  high  order,  and  his  opinions  on  all  subjects 
of  Theology  and  Philosophy  more  completely  formed  than 
with  the  most  of  men,  and  in  these  departments  he  was  abreast 
of  the  ascertained  learning  of  the  age  above  others.  His  piety 
was  sincere  and  deep,  his  moral  sense  accurate  and  unerring. 
His  censure  was  more  easily  borne,  when  it  came,  than  that  of 
others,  because  free  from  prejudice,  and  though  it  had  a  kind 
of  judicial  severity,  it  was  never  volunteered — never  obtruded. 
With  those  qualities  we  have  mentioned  before,  it  is  easy  to 
see  that  his  society  was  prized  by  his  brethren.  As  a  presby- 
ter among  presbyters,  his  knowledge  of  the  principles  of  our 
church  polity,  his  acquaintance  with  the  forms  of  business,  and 
his  instinctive  perception  of  what  each  case  required,  gave  him 
a  deserved  preeminence.  We  remember  well  the  dignity  with 
which  he  presided  over  Synod,  on  one  occasion,  as  its  Mode- 
rator ;  the  quickness  with  which  he  solved  each  intricate  ques- 


19 

tion  of  order  as  it  arose ;  his  dispatch  of  business,  and  his 
quick  rejection  of  everything,  however  plausibly  presented, 
which  would  end  in  confusion  and  evil  at  last.  His  services 
were  invaluable  as  the  Stated  Clerk  of  Presbytery,  and  long 
and  gratefully  will  he  be  remembered  for  the  important  ser- 
vices he  rendered  as  Agent,  Director,  and  Clerk  of  the  Board 
of  the  Theological  Seminary,  the  laborious  and  responsible  du-' 
ties  of  which  last  office  he  ].)tirformed  to  the  satisfaction  of  all. 
He  was  ready  for  every  good  work,  and  resorted  to  for  counsel 
in  all  our  schemes  of  public  benevolence.  In  the  Domestic 
Missionary  enterprise  of  his  OAvn  Presbytery,  his  wisdom,  en- 
ergy and  firmness  were  of  great  price. 

Of  his  domestic  relations  who  shall  speak  ?  Who  shall  tell 
what  he  was  as  a  Husband  and  a  Father?  God  had  endowed 
him  with  a  cheerful,  contented  disposition,  and  an  almost  en- 
tire forgetfuluess  of  self.  There  was  no  reasonable  sacrifice 
which  he  would  not  make  for  the  comfort  and  happiness  of 
those  dearer  than  life.  But  even  in  the  privacy  of  home  he 
was  firm  as  a  rock  where  duty  was  involved.  His  conscience, 
too,  was  tender,  and  God's  glory  was  above  all  things  else. 

Such  was  the  lovely  character  of  our  departed  friend.  Wlieu 
the  news  that  he  was  stricken  with  paralj^sis  went  forth,  many 
hearts  were  made  sad  throughout  the  bounds  of  our  State.  In 
four  months  afterwards  another  stroke  followed,  and  in  Septem- 
ber, 1860,  he  tendered  his  resignation  to  your  church.  This 
resignation  you  declined  to  receive;  but  at  last,  convinced 
that  he  would  labor  for  you  no  more,  you  sorrowfully  consented 
to  accept  what  he  still  pressed  upon  you,  and  the  relation  be- 
tween him  as  your  pastor  and  yourselves  as  his  flock  was  ter- 
minated by  the  action  of  Presbytery  in  A]H'il  last. 

There  was  still  one  official  act  he  felt  called  upon  to  perform. 
His  patriot  heart  bled  for  his  country's  wrongs,  and  he  deeply 
felt  the  impropriety  of  sending  Commissioners  to  sit  in  the 
General  Assembly  to  meet  within  the  bounds  of  a  hostile 
power  at  war  with  the  Confederacy  we  had  formed.  His  last 
act  was  to  present  a  paper  to  the  Presbytery  of  Harmony  at  a 
meeting  called  at  Mt.  Zion  Church,  to  withhold  Commissionerg 
from  the  General  Assembly. 


20 

Tlis  work  on  earth  was  done.  He  had  endured  his  protracted 
bodily  atilictions  with  patience  and  clioerfuhicss,  thou<^h  he 
deeply  felt  the  privation  of  his  Sabbath  labors  among  his  be- 
loved people  and  the  servants  of  his  charge.  But  by  grace  he 
was  enabled  to  bear  up  under  this  load  of  disappointment,  and 
to  cheer,  by  his  almost  playful  disposition,  the  sinking  hearts 
of  his  beloved  family.  Towards  the  close  of  May  he  was  vis- 
ited with  his  last  and  fatal  illness.  During  this  he  was  calm 
and  peaceful,  relying  wholly  on  his  Saviour's  righteousness,  and 
ready  to  depart.  The  only  pang  was  parting  with  his  family, 
for  whom  he  seemed  thoughtful  and  concerned  to  the  last, 
often  fixing  upon  the  objects  of  his  dearest  love  a  look  of  im- 
dying  affection  when  he  could  no  longer  articulate  a  word.  It 
was  a  scene  of  earthly  sorrow  like  that  at  Bethany,  of  which 
we  spoke  in  the  earlier  portion  of  this  discourse.  And  when 
he  passed  away  the  Master  was  not  on  earth,  working  miracles 
in  confirmation  of  his  mission,  and  there  was  no  voice  of  re- 
sistless power  heard,  calling  our  brotlier  back  to  the  troubled 
scene  of  earth,  again  to  die.  From  all  tliese  liuman  sorrows 
he  was  at  once  saved.  The  promise  of  our  text  was  fulfilled. 
And  it  can  be  said  of  him,  "  our  friend  sleepeth,"  awaiting  a 
more  glorious  morning  than  he  ever  beheld.  "Whosoever 
liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die."  He  shall  live  on, 
in  immortal  life,  which  nothing  can  disturb.  And  though  such 
an  one  "  were  dead,"  to  use  the  dialect  of  earth,  "  yet  shall  he 
live."  So  declares  to  us  to-day  He  who  is  "  the  Eesurrection 
and  the  Life."  Death  was  to  our  friend,  on  the  one  hand,  a 
slight  and  momentary  pang ;  on  the  other,  it  was  the  chariot 
which  conveyed  him  to  a  happier  clime,  or  the  door  M'hich 
opened  from  a  world  visited  by  clouds  into  one  of  eternal  day. 
Precious  in  the  eyes  of  the  Lord  is  the  death  of  all  his  saints. 
Precious  even  is  his  earthly  tabernacle,  though  visited  with 
decay.  The  Eedeemer  keeps  his  vigils  over  the  sleeping  dust, 
and  He  that  raised  up  Christ  from  the  dead  shall  quicken  our 
mortal  bodies  by  his  Spirit  that  dwelleth  in  us. 

Illustrious  morning !  when  the  saints  are  raised  with  incor- 
ruptible bodies,  and  Mount  Zion  above  is  vocal  with  new  songs 
of  triumj)li !  Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead  in  sorrow,  and  fu- 


21 

neral  dirges  sound  around  their  sepulchres.  But  when  the  liv- 
ing bury  Our  Saviour's  living  ones,  that  shall  never  die,  let 
our  hearts  sing  with  joy  at  their  deliverance  from  sin,  tears 
and  pain,  even  though  we  lose  their  society  on  earth.  For 
they  have  escaped  this  land  of  sighing,  and  are  gone  where 
"  they  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more  ;  neither 
shall  the  sun  light  on  them,  nor  any  heat.  For  the  Lamb 
wliicli  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  sliall  feed  tliem,  and  shall 
lead  them  to  living  fountains  of  waters :  and  God  shall  wipe 
away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 

To-morrow,  perhaps,  after  a  few  to-morrows  at  most,  we 
shall  be  with  them,  joining  in  tlie  everlasting  song,  and  going 
in  and  out  in  the  temple  not  made  with  hands.  We  shall  be 
united  to  those  who  have  gone  before.  Deeply  too  as  his  ab- 
sence is  now  felt  in  the  family,  the  church,  the  Presbytery, 
Synod  and  Assembly,  he  has  entered  the  general  assembly  of 
tlie  first-born,  which  are  written  in  heaven ;  has  gone  to  that 
God  who  is  the  Judge  of  all,  and  to  the  spirits  of  just  men 
made  perfect ;  and  instead  of  ministering  here  to  you,  has 
been  worshiping  these  months  past  around  the  throne,  and 
joining  in  the  song,  "  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  that  was  slain  to 
receive  power,  and  riches,  and  wisdom,  and  strength,  and 
honor,  and  glory,  and  blessing." 

And  though  another  servant  of  God  occupies  this  pulpit 
now,  and  another  voice  resounds  around  these  walls,  and 
another  youthful  David  has  taken  his  sling  in  hand  and  gone 
forth  to  do  battle  for  God  in  your  midst,  forget  not  the  pastor 
who  has  led  3^ou  hitherto,  and  has  gone  up  to  his  reward,  nor 
allow  his  bereaved  ones  to  lack  the  sympathy  and  affections  of 
the  people  who  have  delighted  to  honor  him.  So  shall  your 
ancient  church,  now  nearly  reaching,  if  it  has  not  already 
reached,  the  centenary  of  its  foundation,  maintain  its  renown 
as  a  body  of  true  believers,  noblemen,  if  we  may  so  speak,  in 
this  earthl}'^  kingdom  of  our  Lord,  in  whose  generous  and  kind 
hearts  all  the  friends  of  Christ  and  his  true  ministers  shall  ever 
find  sympathy  and  love. 


